-Broadcast-
Gladius charged forward with the desperate, frenzied courage of a man whose entire world was collapsing around him. His massive Colossal Titan form thundered across the factory floor, each thunderous footstep sending violent tremors through the reinforced concrete, shaking dust and debris from the high ceilings. Even watching from the sterile comfort of his throne room across distant timelines, Doflamingo felt his chest tighten, a rare flicker of genuine concern behind his ever-present grin. His loyal executive, one of his most fanatical followers, was rushing headlong into a battle he could not possibly win, yet retreat was no longer an option. The honor of the Family was at stake.
"Go back to hell where you belong, you relics of a bygone era!" Gladius roared, his voice distorted and amplified by the titan's vocal cords. His transformed body began to vent clouds of superheated steam, a sign of the immense power building within him. The white vapor billowed around the two resurrected legends like a dense morning fog, carrying with it the sharp, metallic scent of impending destruction.
The executive's strategy was brutally simple but had proven lethally effective in the past—it was the same technique that had utterly obliterated the formidable CP0 agent Kaku. "Steam Explosion!"
Under the absolute control of his Pamu Pamu no Mi, the surrounding steam began to twist and contort, compressing upon itself with unimaginable force. What was once harmless vapor became a contained, volatile weapon, the very air being weaponized into a force capable of reducing a city block to a crater.
Roger took a step forward, his borrowed body coiled like a panther ready to spring, but Whitebeard's massive hand fell gently but firmly on his shoulder, a gesture of absolute authority.
"Since he wishes to test the power of a Devil Fruit," the World's Strongest Man said, a knowing, almost paternal smile spreading across his weathered face, "then his opponent should be me. Let me show this child what real power looks like."
Edward Newgate drew back his right fist, and the very fabric of reality around it began to distort. Shimmering, invisible cracks appeared in the atmosphere itself, as if space were a pane of glass on the verge of shattering. He was channeling the cataclysmic force of his Gura Gura no Mi. When his punch connected not with Gladius, but with the explosive steam itself, the resulting shockwave was like witnessing a god casually reshape the laws of physics.
The tremor force didn't simply disperse Gladius's attack—it annihilated it on a fundamental level. The carefully compressed and weaponized steam was unraveled in an instant, its destructive potential completely neutralized and scattered to the winds. But Whitebeard's devastating assault was far from over. The shockwave continued on its path, an unstoppable wave of pure force.
Gladius watched in growing, abject horror as his supposedly impregnable Armament Haki, the black coating that should have been his ultimate defense, proved utterly useless against the approaching ripple in space. The dark, hardened shield that could repel blades and bullets might as well have been made of tissue paper.
"Impossible!" he gasped as the tremor force bypassed his Haki entirely, flowing through his defenses as if they weren't there. It worked its way deep inside his massive body, a malevolent vibration that began to shatter bones and pulverize muscles from within. "My Armament should be able to—"
The sentence died in his throat as his Colossal Titan began to disintegrate. Unable to maintain the complex transformation under such an overwhelming and invasive force, Gladius was violently ejected from the titan's nape just as the entire construct collapsed into steaming, bloody chunks of flesh and bone.
Behind him, Machvise's golden-furred Beast Titan, having witnessed the casual display of world-ending power, had already turned tail and was fleeing for its life, abandoning its partner and comrade without a single moment of hesitation. The sight of such craven betrayal, a complete violation of the Family's code, sparked a white-hot fury in Gladius's heart.
"You ungrateful, spineless coward!" he snarled after his retreating comrade, his voice raw with rage. "After everything the Young Master has done for you, this is how you repay his trust?"
Whitebeard retracted his devastating power, the cracks in the air vanishing as if they had never been. He glanced toward the fleeing gorilla with only mild interest. "Roger, that one's yours. Let's see who can finish their opponent faster—just like the old times."
A wide, competitive grin that had once terrified the Grand Line split the Pirate King's borrowed features. "You're on, old friend," Roger's voice boomed with relish. "But don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're getting on in years!"
With that exuberant declaration, Roger exploded into motion. He became a blur of speed that defied the physical limitations of his temporary body, closing the distance on the fleeing Beast Titan in the blink of an eye.
With both legendary pirates engaged in their grim work, Brook found himself momentarily without a role to play. He produced a finely crafted violin from seemingly nowhere, tucked it under his chin, and began to play a haunting funeral dirge. The mournful, elegant notes echoed through the war-torn factory, a requiem for the dying age of the Donquixote Family.
"How?" Gladius demanded, his entire worldview crumbling as completely as his titan form had. "You've been dead for almost five years! There can't be two Gura Gura no Mi users in the world at the same time—it's impossible!"
Brook's skeletal fingers danced gracefully across the violin strings as he offered a casual explanation, his tone light and conversational. "My Soul Binding Resurrection technique operates outside the normal constraints of time and causality. It restores the subject to their complete state at the moment of their death, which includes all of their abilities, memories, and even their Devil Fruit powers. You should consider yourself quite fortunate, you know. If I had chosen to restore Whitebeard to his prime instead of the aged form he died in, that single tremor would have atomized you instantly."
Rather than gratitude, Gladius's face contorted with mounting horror. The true implications of Brook's power were staggering, world-shattering. If the Soul King could summon any warrior from history at their full strength, he could potentially command an unstoppable army capable of overthrowing the World Government and reshaping civilization itself.
-Real World-
In his gloomy, shadow-drenched castle on Thriller Bark, Gecko Moria's eyes blazed with a newfound, manic obsession. Brook's abilities made his own painstaking zombie experiments look like a child's clumsy toys in comparison. Why settle for reanimated corpses when one could command the actual, power-filled souls of the greatest warriors in history?
"I must have him," Moria declared to the silent, empty throne room, his voice quivering with avarice. "That skeleton, Brook, will be my vice-captain, my partner in conquering death itself! Drop everything—find that skeleton and bring him to me! Now!"
The entire Thriller Bark crew mobilized with a religious fervor. Even Moria himself, a creature of shadow and sloth, emerged from his castle for the first time in years, determined to claim Brook and his godlike power before any rival force could interfere.
Around the world, analysts and intelligence agencies watched the resurrection display with a growing, cold dread. If Brook's power had no meaningful limitations, he was not just a pirate; he was a strategic threat on a global scale, theoretically capable of overthrowing the World Government single-handedly by summoning an army of legendary figures from the annals of history.
-Broadcast-
Gladius stared at the approaching figure of Whitebeard, his impending doom, with the profound clarity that comes only in life's final moments. There was still one card left to play—one final, desperate service he could perform for the man who had given his miserable existence meaning.
"Young Master," he whispered, a prayer on his lips as he bit down hard on his finger, drawing the blood needed for one last transformation. "I'll destroy this factory before the enemies can ever claim it. A final gift... from your most loyal servant."
Golden lightning coursed through his battered and broken body as he began his final metamorphosis. But instead of forming another titan, Gladius made a different choice—a choice born of absolute, fanatical desperation.
A series of violent explosions erupted around his human form as he activated his Pamu Pamu no Mi at its absolute maximum output. Rather than targeting external objects, he turned his explosive power inward, transforming his own body into a living, biological bomb capable of leveling entire city blocks.
His flesh began to swell and expand like a grotesque, rapidly inflating balloon, growing larger and larger by the second as the internal pressure built towards a critical, apocalyptic mass. This would be his final artwork—an explosion so beautiful and devastating it would serve as both his masterpiece and his epitaph.
"Admirable determination," Whitebeard acknowledged, his voice holding a note of genuine, warrior-to-warrior respect. "But unfortunately for you, I am your opponent."
The World's Strongest Man extended his open palm toward the swelling human bomb, and that familiar, terrifying white light began to gather around his fingers. This time, however, the tremor force was not a wave of destruction but a cage of precisely controlled energy, creating a localized field that encompassed only Gladius's expanding form.
The executive felt a new, horrifying sensation. His body began to vibrate at the molecular level, every single atom shaking itself apart under Whitebeard's absolute influence. His carefully accumulated explosive force dispersed harmlessly into the air as the very structure of his being unraveled like a cheap sweater.
"Even your final moments belong to me," Whitebeard said, his voice devoid of cruelty, simply stating an undeniable fact. "In the face of absolute power, even suicide becomes an impossible luxury."
Gladius disintegrated completely, his body reduced to a cloud of particles no larger than fingernail clippings, which then scattered on the factory's still air. There would be no grand explosion, no final act of defiant loyalty—only the quiet, chilling efficiency of overwhelming force applied with surgical precision.
The weak, it seemed, didn't even have the luxury of choosing how they died when confronted by the legends of the previous era.
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